


Junkrat Gets Trolled

by Bee_Knee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bombs, Displaced, Explosions, Gen, Reincarnation, Sandfury, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_Knee/pseuds/Bee_Knee
Summary: Tusks sprouted from Junkrat's face. He awakes one day to find himself in Azeroth, transformed into a troll. He needs to get home, but it's hard to make a plan when he only has a slight recollection of what happened.-----World of Warcraft+Overwatch Crossover





	1. Chapter 1

His head rolled. Junkrat struggled to stand up. Rubble had covered him up by his waist.

He was trapped!

Something round tumbled in front of him.

'A bomb!' His mind screeched.

He was too close!

Reflexively, he buried his chin into the ground, covered his ears, and looked away.

He braced himself for the coming explosion. His eyes were gritty. His imagination easily ran wild with ideas on how his face would look upon detonation.

The seconds ticked by and his bravery wavered as he began to panic.

One could only stare death in the face for so long.

The anticipation grew palatable.

Slowly, Junkrat blinked. The light and sand stung, but he chuckled when he saw.

It was a rock, grey and plain as they'd come.

'Not. A. Bomb?" Junkrat silently sounded out the words.

He just realized he was unbelievably parched. His throat felt like he had gargled rocks.

Junkrat took a moment to compose himself. It was hard to do, from the rubble pinning him and his mind being slow to realize, he had more time than he thought.

"Fuck!" He snarled as he twisted around. The rocks wouldn't give. All the struggling just left him tired.

He blinked rapidly. It was as tempting as it was mad to sleep under a blanket of rocks.

Junkrat clenched his teeth and his ears burned.

Nothing as petty and lame as rocks kept the rat down!

He was overjoyed to find his arms spared the rubble.

Blindly, he clawed forward, finding bigger rocks to grip as he wiggled loose.

It was a slow, crude, and at times painful endeavor.

But, he got free!

Junkrat stood up.

He jumped and hollered, the victory intoxicating!

It was lucky his peg-leg hadn't been damaged; else, Junkrat might have fallen, to another kind of death.

A huge landscape stretched out before him. The terrain was elevated and he quickly put together he was on some sort of mountain-top.

Junkrat shut up as he took in the breathtaking greenery of the place. Never had he seen so much concentrated green.

He was used to deserts. Heck, he loved deserts!

Dirt, sand, and gravel-along with the beating of the sun.

It was the proper place to be; and, where he was, this forest, had little if none of that.

The sun only just barely clawed some light into the dense canopies. The forest might as well have been a jungle. It was dark enough and Junkrat's skin itched from the uncomfortable humidity.

"Damn, the fuck did I eat?" His voice was weak. "No! What did I drink!?" He corrected.

Only blackout drunkenness could lead to such a drastic change in scenery.

\-----

Junkrat coughed from creeping anxiety.

Stranded? In some rando forest?!

Junkrat couldn't believe his luck. He was positively gobsmacked and he walked slow.

Almost, he admitted to being scared.

His peg-leg kept getting snagged on roots. If his foot had still been flesh, he would have broken his ankle several times over.

"Stupid, death-trap trees!" Junkrat sneered. His temper flared. He ripped leaves and nettles straight from their branches. He crushed them like victims. The activity was delightfully therapeutic.

Junkrat was soon a mess. He was covered in splinters and sap. His face set into a permanent scowl as reality hit him like bus.

Well damn, he really was in a forest!

At first he thought he was dreaming. Second, that he was under a drug-trip.

Third, well, there wasn't one…

As sap dripped onto his lip and he cringed from the revolting taste, he couldn't deny his situation any longer.

It was real.

Nervously, he wiggled the fingertips of his mechanical hand and the metal squeaked.

The sound was reassuring. He was alive, he could still hear.

But he felt sick. His tongue rolled in horror.

His hand, it was all wrong.

Fingers were missing!

"Blimey, I'm losing it!"

Frantically he blinked, but the terrible sight didn't change.

Only three fingers were on his hand. Two stuck out like fat sausages and the other gripped like a thumb.

It wasn't wild to believe a finger or two had been severed off, somehow. He'd woken up under a pile of rubble after all.

But there was no blood? No pain?

No scars.

It was like he'd never lost anything to begin with.

Junkrat compared the fingers to his mechanical hand. One finger equalled the size of two normal ones.

And claws, thick black ones, jutted out like hooks. He flexed them in fascination.

His new hand looked entirely alien. The fingers were huge and bloated, as if infected.

Junkrat dared to look down. He noticed then, walking had been unpleasant. His lone boot was misshapen and tight.

He glanced nervously at his hand. Did...did his foot change?

The boot had to come off.

He stared longer than he would have liked. Enough so that sweat gathered onto his forehead.

He held his alien hand away, disgust plain on his face.

With his far more trusty mechanical hand he undid the boot laces.

It was a struggle. Though the hand had five fingers, it lacked dexterity. And it was smaller than he remembered.

The boot was also uncomfortably tight. Junkrat had to resort to using his new claws to nip through the leather.

The boot popped off and Junkrat gasped. He fell backwards onto his rump.

"Auagh!" Pain flooded into his foot.

Apparently the boot had cut off circulation and it burned as it returned.

Two big bloated toes had ripped out from the sock. Another toe had been added to the heel. The entire set looked like it belonged to an obese bird.

Junkrat's tongue poked out in disgust.

"Oh, that's not right, mate!" He touched the tips of his alien fingers and toes. Everything felt normal, despite clearly being not.

"Holy dooley, this is a might sick-a chicken foot! Not real, can't be!"

His flinched as he heard the fear in his voice.

The rat didn't get scared. Not, usually.

Not...not over some gross limbs! He lost a hand and foot before.

And he could do it again!

Junkrat shrugged and smirked. He stood a little straighter, pride bloomed in his chest.

Yes, he'd manage.

He almost believed himself.

Junkrat didn't scare easy, or so he figured.

Obviously, he'd been transformed somehow, an alien perhaps. It was definitely going on the list of things he'd never imagined being afraid of.

Now, there was just one more thing…

He lifted up his leg, still disfigured and bird-like.

And bit down.

"Yoweehooww!" Junkrat yelped and tasted blood. He only had intended to nip it!

It hurt alright! Any hopes of him being in a dream were put to rest.

As he licked his teeth, he almost cut himself again. His teeth had become considerably sharp.

Pointed, like a shark or dog, he figured.

Oddly, his mouth felt smaller, despite the teeth having grown twice the normal size; which, didn't seem to crowd the space.

"Cripes, I've got the mug of a croc!" He rubbed his cheeks and lips in fascination.

Junkrat felt fear pick at him again. Something jutted into his field of vision, and he automatically flinched.

Huge teeth, one's he'd somehow missed. He reached out to touch them and marveled at how it wasn't a hallucination.

Tusks! Tusks as big as swords had grown out from his face! No wonder his mouth felt so small.

So big were they, it suddenly felt hard to hold up his head and his neck felt like a wary branch.

"What! What!?" He screeched. The noise echoed along the mountainside, mirroring his mental screaming, as he found he couldn't anymore.

He was rendered speechless.

His hands ran over the tusks, over and over, seeing just how ridiculously long they were. He expected them to disappear, no,he wanted them to disappear.

His tongue poked out and he tried to lick them. It felt hard to breath. The giant tusks took up all the space on his face!

"Gaugh!" He pulled on his hair to realize it too had changed. A thin mohawk of coarse blonde hair stuck out like a blade and it extended down, towards half his back. It felt itchy and Junkrat ripped at his scalp.

His disfigured hand ran over the side of his face. Something twitched as he touched it. His ears...long as sticks they were and almost seemed rodent like as a tuft of fur sprouted from the tips.

He wasn't a croc, but a damn mammoth!

Junkrat smiled at the imagery, but his heart sunk at the idea.

Whoa, he must look hideous!

Junkrat blinked rapidly and settled down, hugging his knees close. He found himself oddly reflective as he tried to understand why huge tusks weren't the first thing he'd notice!

He stared ahead, focusing on nothing in particular. The tusks disappeared from view, his brain ignoring them, just like his nose.

Speaking of his nose, it had grown into the shape of half an avocado!

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The curse continued like a mantra.

Junkrat twiddled his thumbs, refusing to look at his new accessories as he stumbled blindly. Nerves burned and pushed him forward.

He was thankful he could partly ignore the tusks. It would have quickly grown maddening to have them clutter his vision.

The tusks were terrible though. Though he couldn't see them, they constantly bumped into things-trunks, boulders, and even a bizarrely huge mushroom or two.

Junkrat tried, oh did he try, to wank the bastards from his mouth; but, it was like trying to bend steel.

Damn.


	2. Chapter 2

It had gotten dark.

Automatically he gathered branches and kindling together.

Making fire was second nature to Junkrat. After angrily twisting a stick, a flame was quick to snap at his toes.

He had all day to think about his predicament.

Either he had been turned into an alien or was infected with some Frankenstein-brand disease; or, maybe both.

He shuddered.

The conclusions seemed absurd; though, Junkrat had made numerous enemies.

He was a criminal and a self-proclaimed mastermind.

Junkrat, the terrorist who went international and made the history books!

It was a career that anyone could be proud of!

Still...the type of work attracted bad attention...enemies...the sort in suits...who toted cases of cash in lue of having the guts to face him head on.

How frustrating!

No doubt one of those suit cowards did this to him. Money was a miracle worker after all.

He picked his teeth, each littered with a gold filling. Before he handed a dentist a stack of cash, his smile was close to gone, but now it glittered like stars.

If money could fix that rotted mess, anything was possible.

Turning into a Frankenstein alien and being dumped into some seedy woods was totally plausible.

"I guess murder wasn't enough for those nuts."

He looked around, squinting as he anticipated finding a camera peering at him from a canopy of leaves. The suits were spying on him no doubt. His skin rippled, something was nearby. The rich always had weird taste in entertainment...

Junkrat shrugged.

He became apathetic as he stared into the campfire. Old habits came to him. Being alone and needing to survive is what most of his life was. At least that hadn't changed.

Damn, he was hungry. Eyeing the trees for a bird, lizard, or even a beetle, he came up empty.

Fuck, no good.

As the night progressed. Junkrat stopped looking for food and grew uneasy about how intense the darkness was.

Normally he wouldn't have a fire at night, it attracted too much attention. But that was out in an open desert, the outback. Here, trees and thick plants surrounded him on all sides.

Hopefully the glow of the fire wouldn't travel too far beyond the branches.

\-----

Junkrat didn't remember falling asleep.

Then again, he remembered few things. At times, he'd forget what he was doing.

Sometimes he would be in a middle of a project and he'd looked away for a moment, only to turn back and find the reasons for his tinkering to elude him.

It was frustrating, understandably maddening. but thankfully his mind didn't play tricks this time.

Junkrat had set out every piece of equipment he had on him.

Hammers, screws, wires, and junk were scattered about.

And bombs. Junkrat cradled a grenade, his face split into a smile.

Oh he loved bombs. They were his family alright.

He could count on an explosion being warm, a bit like a hug he supposed.

Bombs were friends when he needed them. They were always quick to back him up when things got greasy in battle.

Besides the bombs, Junkrat's prized possession was his good ol' fat tire. He carried the babe around on his back. Over the years it twisted his spine into a mess, but it was well worth it.

The tire was plugged up with a hubcap and he popped it off with his still disfigured hand.

Inside were his best supplies. He squealed in delight as he pulled out a package of boba.

Sadly, it wasn't the type of food to eat raw. It tasted like gravel otherwise.

Still, having boba on hand was a huge comfort. It was Junkrat's favorite food after all.

He hugged the package close. It was something to look forward to.

Perhaps he could get through this mess.

"Boba, my sweet buddy! You're my savior in all this, I tell yeah!" Junkrat frowned. "But...something ain't right. If those punkish suits are the ones who tossed me out here and stole my fingers n' toes…?"

The boba crinkled in the plastic. Junkrat nodded as if it responded. "Yeah, so what I'm saying is...why would those suits let me keep you?" He paused.

"In fact, why would they let me keep any of my stuff, eyh? I'm surprised I'm not stuck sporting my birthday suit! Them liking suits n' all."

Junkrat grumbled. His pants felt too tight now that he noticed, and appreciated them. The suits hadn't tossed him out naked.

He poked at his legs, they looked bloated and sick too. In fact, his entire body looked sickly and his skin peeled as the slightest touch. It was like being sunburned, but as Junkrat ripped a few flakes off-it didn't hurt and he gaped in fascination.

Slowly, he grew disturbed as he pressed his face into the bobba, half-muffling a scream.

He didn't want to be a mammoth!

"God damnit, what kinda shitty kidnap job is this?!" Junkrat pulled his pockets inside out. Gold popped onto the ground and he fumbled with the coins as if to make a point.

And things weren't adding up.

"Those suits LOVE money! Why the hell didn't they mug me! Heck, that's the first thing I'd do if I'm kidnapping someone."

The boba was silent. It had been tossed to the side. Junkrat hung his head, his eyes dull from exhaustion as he tried to make sense of things.

Obviously, something was off, but it was like there was a block on his mind. He wasn't sure why things were off; whether they were supposed to be up or down.

But Junkrat knew one thing. He didn't always have just three fingers and toes each. Nor did he have tusks sprouting from his face. Or ears that spanned out like half-opened fans.

He was gonna destroy whoever did this to him!

Quickly, Junkrat's anger lost steam. It was hard to stay angry when he had no target to fix it upon.

His hand itched to throw a bomb. It was his natural reaction when stressed.

Nothing but trees blocked his path, and it was becoming more and more appealing to lob a grenade up into a branch.

Of course, he wasn't stupid. A bit rash and impulsive at times...but, not stupid.

With his streak of luck he'd light himself on fire. Too many trees trapped him, tight.

'The explosion wouldn't be satisfying.' He told himself.

The forest was too wet and closed in. Explosions needed a nice, dry and open area to live right.

Sighing, he tucked the bomb away. He hadn't realized he'd picked one up.

Still, the idea nagged at him.

When the trees eventually gave way to another rocky expanse, he appreciated the view, happy to see grey rubble in lieu of the tiring green.

It was almost like a canyon, a ravine when he looked more closely.

He sniffed the air. "Water?"

Junkrat needed it to be true. His drool was thick as he imagined dunking his head into the cool river below.

Suddenly the bomb was back in his hand.

"Bombs solve everything." He reasoned.

The bomb flew down into the ravine. Junkrat leaned forward, almost falling over, as he strained to hear the landing.

"One...two...three...four...six?" Then he jumped backwards!

He was almost a second too late when he heard the distinctive "tink" of rock on metal.

"Brooomswooosh!"

The explosion was more spectacular than Junkrat expected. Rocks flung into the air and fire jetted into the air.

"Blimey, what a delight!" Junkrat cackled as rocks began to shift under his feet.

He let the explosion wash over him as he rode the rubble down into the ravine.


	3. Chapter 3

Falling down was an art. If someone did it incorrectly, they would die. The fact kept Junkrat focused, keeping him from being sucked in by the beauty of the flicking fire.

The explosion by no means went smoothly. Junkrat had managed to make it into the ravine, but sparks had ignited trees up above and a forest fire was raging.

Smoke clouded his view. Fortunately it didn't bother Junkrat. His eyes, nose, and lungs no longer burned after years of exposure and he hardly noticed it was there.

He smirked when he felt the earth grow wet under his disfigured foot. It gave way to mud and Junkrat licked his lips.

But, as he went further, he didn't find a river, nor even a puddle as he anticipated.

Junkrat had faced failure before

He wasn't one to give up!

His pace quickened as he went deeper into the ravine. The sides grew narrower and he had to struggle for footing.

He did find his prize, however. He felt it before he could see it. The water rushed over his swollen foot and he squealed at how cold it was.

Junkrat was quick to be acquainted. He plopped belly first into the river, but it didn't rush over his back. It was too small for that.

His river was more akin to a stream. He gnashed his teeth at his reflection, as if it was to blame.

The smoke had cleared, barley. He could make out his blonde hair but scarcely anything else.

Junkrat's strained to see any details. Unfortunately, the water was muddy. He just realized how much he wanted to see himself. Transforming into an alien-Frankenstein mammoth was a first for him.

Then he pulled away. He hadn't found what he'd wanted. Instead, something hot and wet had pressed against his neck.

His eyes bulged out as claws dug into his back. A shadow loomed over in front of him.

He scarcely realized he was being attacked, before he was bludgeoned over the head.

\-----

Junkrat woke up. His head burned as if his hair had caught fire, and he hadn't noticed. He smirked as he shifted his weight and sat up.

It wouldn't have been the first occasion.

Though Junkrat's amusement died as he took in his surroundings. He was in a log cabin of sorts, the room empty save for a table and the chair he was keenly tied too.

Perhaps he should have noticed he was trapped sooner.

The rope was thick and easily dug into his skin. Junkrat then noticed his mechanical arm was missing!

His eyes bugged out as he struggled, trying to get his remaining hand free.

His captor was experienced. His fingers had each been firmly tied down as well.

Junkrat gaped at the excessiveness at the little knots around his fingers.

It was absurd!

*Bang*

The door had swung open and Junkrat slowly raised his head, but his eyes still lingered on his knotted fingers.

Hopefully his captor wasn't too deranged. He tapped the broken end of his peg-leg. His hopes were low. Rarely did he attract nice people.

"Stop. That. Racket."

Junkrat ceased tapping, but not out of fear or any obligation to obey his captor.

But out of surprise.

It was a man, wrinkled and past his prime. He had black hair that greyed at the ends and facial hair Junkrat highly coveted.

The man seemed normal enough, though his brows tightened with obvious suspicion.

What had surprised Junkrat, were his eyes

The irises were red and glowed slightly, as the light in the room seemed to dim.

"Good, good. You can understand me then."

The man's voice didn't seem malicious, just bored and aged, which surprised Junkrat more.

Normally his captors were quick to scream and were full of energy to make demands.

Not this one though, and that scared him more than he realized.

The man pulled up a chair he hadn't noticed. He sat in front of Junkrat and starred, no doubt examining his hideous transformation.

"Speak, if you understand."

Junkrat nodded.

"Happy to oblige, mate!" Junkrat had many many things he wanted to say. "Mind telling me why I'm all pressed up, like a bird on a string, eyh?"

The man raised a brow and cocked his head. His eyes flickered briefly, as if viewing Junkrat in a new light.

Junkrat noticed a notebook, as the man flipped it open. What was most curious was that the man held a quill to write, a puffy white monstrosity.

Curious.

"Hey, what yah be scribbling there?"

Junkrat tried to leaned forward to see what the man wrote, but the knots held him firmly-not like he could read well anyway.

"Uh, I asked you a question you know. Kinda rude not to chat... don't you think?"

It was only after the notebook abruptly closed, that Junkrat considered he may have been better off staying quiet.

The man bristled, and his jaw twitched.

"Know your place, pest!" The man stood and looked more muscular than a man his age usually was.

Junkrat pressed low into the chair. He expected a smack or kick. It's what captors did after all.

But the man walked past as if he wasn't even there and began to fiddle with whatever was on the table, which was just out of Junkrat's sight.

Metal clattered, likely tools. The man cursed under his breath.

It was maddening. Any number of torturous tools could be there. A large, pointed tip was felt at the back of his neck and he froze.

It would take little effort, to pierce his throat.

"My questions have priority." The man walked into view. "Sorry, pest." A fire-poker of all things, was his weapon of choice. He leaned in close to Junkrat, his breath the smell of rancid jerky.

"If you don't waste my time with useless answers, then I might be in the mood to answer a few things."

It just registered how low the man's voice was, as if he enjoyed snacking on splinters and gargled jelly.

Junkrat stayed silent and nodded. The tip of his tongue bled as he tried to find his manners. He didn't trust his mouth to keep from antagonizing the situation.

"First, what is your business here? I haven't seen your kind this far north in a long time." The accusatory tone made it obvious that the man expected a substantial answer.

"Oh!" Junkrat rolled his shoulders for emphasize. "My god man, I wish I knew! I was just minding myself and hangin' in the outback, until something smacked me over the head! Then, I wake up to find myself in a bloody forest, and, and-"

The man raised a hand to signal Junkrat to stop, but his mind was racing for miles.

"-that's far from the worst of it! Some twisted suits stacked a pile of gold on me and disfigured me into some franken-freak! Why? What for? It's crazy rich-."

"That's enough. So "my god man?" You think flattery is going to get you anywhere?" The man moved the tip of the poker just underneath Junkrat's chin. "Not wise calling common folks gods."

He gulped, and whined just the tiniest bit.

"Makes you look stupid."

Whatever Junkrat said had displeased the man, but, he hadn't a clue how. "Uh...urg...no?"

"Correct."

The pressure on the pointer decreased slightly. Junkrat smiled nervously. His felt his elongated ears press firmly against his skull.

"Again, what is your business here?"

"None, absolutely none!" Said Junkrat, without hesitation. "I just got kidnapped and dumped in the woods! Then, I got a might thirsty and then got kidnapped again at the water. Heck, simple."

"Better." The poker was pulled away and stabbed into the floorboards.

"Second, what do you know...of the fire?" The man looked away. "The forest fire?"

Junkrat's eyes grew wide. He desperately wanted to say "Everything!"

Junkrat loved to brag. He was proud of his work! 'I started the little beauty myself!' Is what he almost said, but the man's anger seemed to taper into sadness at the end.

He must have caused something terrible.

It was smart to play along.

"Ack, yeah, and that fire! I was...napping! T-that's when I caught hint of the smoke and figured it a fine push to get some water-then, I was conked on the head, you know the rest."

Junkrat desperately hoped that his wide eyes looked more akin to fear, than the shit-eating smile that splintered out as guilt leaked through his teeth.

The man seemed to buy it.

He sat back down and scribbled something in the notebook.

"Right, I see. Gilt."

Junkrat froze. Guilt? He knew?!

Still, best to play dumb.

"Oh sorry, what?"

"My name, Gilt. And your's?"

Junkrat was gobsmacked. His...name?

"Gilt? Ha, neat name!" It was a very odd name. "Call me Junkrat, demolition expert, extraordinaire!"

"What do you plan on doing?"

"...Excuse me?"

"What is your plan?"

"Euh…" Rarely did folks ask anything about him personally, and a plan was a bit like it.

"Well, probably to eat and sleep. And, to get out of the damn forest, into a sensible desert, and to track down those blasted suits-"

The man waved a hand. It wasn't what he wanted.

"No, no. Your intentions! Are you Horde?"

"Horde?" Junkrat squinted, and shook his head. "No." He wasn't about to say yes to something the man seemed so intense about.

The man sighed, and leaned into his chair. Suddenly he looked his age and pinched his forehead.

"Fine, fine. Ask a question now." He looked resigned about something.

Junkrat gulped. He had many questions, but the look of the man said he might only get one answer.

"What uh, did you kidnap me for? I just wanted a lick of water is all."

"Water?" The man raised a brow, "You want water?"

Junkrat nodded vigorously. Momentarily he forgot his words as his mouth felt unbearably dry.

"Oh yes mate, please? I'd love some! I've been stuck in those woods a few good days."

That much was true and the man believed him. Junkrat had no reason to keep the desperation from his voice. He needed to look weak, as much as it irked him. He couldn't look a threat else he'd get a poker right through his throat.

Junkrat gulped, from thirst and not his growing fear, he told himself.

Then the man suddenly left, in a huff. Perhaps he intended to round up a few friends--to see the mammoth-freak!

Junkrat had dealt with captors before, but never had he been a tusked weirdo.

Were they going to sell him? Dissect him? Eat him?!

Honestly, Junkrat didn't care how he died, but having a chance to fight back would've been nice.

Junkrat counted the wooden boards that made up the room to distract himself. There were no windows, only the dinky door the man had left through.

**Author's Note:**

> A World of Warcraft+Overwatch Crossover isn't too weird. Both are Blizzard properties after all, right?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Any feedback is welcomed.


End file.
